Sleep Well
by Black Crystall Draygon
Summary: Ryou Bakura talks to the Spirit of the Ring about getting hurt ...Note: First chapter takes place during the very last bit of the 7th YGO manga, so possibly a VERY vague spoiler.
1. I

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. It belongs to Kazuki Takahashi (who rocks) ... and 4Kids (who don't rock) as well I suppose.  
Warnings: None, really. I've been told my Bakura is in character for the time when this is set. However, my Yami no Bakura is a little less in character because he's damn hard to get right.  
Summary: Bakura talks to the spirit of the ring about getting hurt ...  
Notes: Takes place sort of during the last bit of the 7th Manga that they didn't bother to tell us about.  
A/N: Please don't flame me. Please don't tell me I spoiled the mangas for you. I warned you in the main summary that there is a **very slight spoiler**. It's very mild. **Please** review.

**Sleep well**

_How is it?_

"Don't talk to me."

_How is your hand?_

"Leave me alone!"

A pause, as if for breath. _I only want to know if it still hurts._

Bakura didn't reply. He simply went on making the diorama he was working on. The voice in his head went silent. Bakura breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. He was tired, but sleep didn't seem to help. And every morning, no matter where he fell asleep, he would wake up in front of the television. If he didn't know that the voice in his head could take control of his body, he would have accounted this to sleepwalking. He wanted to confront the Voice, but feared what it could do. He opened his eyes and glanced at his bandaged hand. He had almost lost the use of it thanks to the Voice.

_It hurts you._

Bakura swallowed hard. "Yes. It will hurt for a while, yet. It takes time for a wound like that to heal."

_No. It hurts you that you are bound to me._

Bakura didn't answer him. The Voice already knew the answer. Bakura stood and turned towards the kitchen, then stumbled back into his desk, yelping in surprise. A slightly translucent figure stood before him, arms folded across his chest. He looked like Bakura, and yet not like him. His hair was wilder, his expression sharper and harder to read. His eyes were fathomless.

Bakura whispered, "Who are you?"

"In life I was the Thief King. I robbed the tombs of the Pharaohs."

Bakura took a deep, steadying breath. "Why are you inside my head?"

"I am the Spirit of the Ring. My soul is sealed to it. Through you, I can live again – or at least have a half-life."

Bakura looked at the Thief-King steadily. "Do you hurt me because you enjoy it?"

He took a step closer and ran one finger down Bakura's cheek. He was as insubstantial as mist, yet Bakura felt his touch, warm and real against his skin. "No –"

Bakura's eyes became cold, and the spirit stopped speaking. He unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it apart to reveal pale, almost invisible scars where the Ring's spikes had pierced his skin on the Thief-King's apparent command. He held up his heavily bandaged left hand. "Then why do you do it? You've hurt me twice now _Thief-King_. If you don't do it for pleasure then why?"

He didn't answer. Bakura drew in a deep breath and pushed past the translucent figure before him; he felt strangely solid and warm to Bakura. He wondered vaguely if others could see or touch the spirit like he could. The Thief-King's arm whipped out and grabbed his arm. Bakura tried to pull away, but found he couldn't. "What?"

"Forgive me."

Bakura pulled away. "No."

He turned away and left the spirit alone in the room. The spirit sank to the floor and sat cross-legged until Bakura came back with a glass of water. The boy ignored him, going back to work on the diorama without a single word. The Thief-King watched him for a long while. Eventually, just as Bakura leant back and looked at the finished diorama, he whispered, "I only wanted to give you what you wanted. You said you wished you could play with your friends forever –"

"You tried to steal Yugi's pendant."

"You don't understand, the Spirit of the Puzzle, he is the one –"

"I understand enough. You used my body and my friendship with Yugi to your advantage. You'd do it again if you needed to. I don't want to talk to you any more. Go away, get out of my head and _never_ take advantage of my body again!"

The Thief-King closed his eyes and vanished. Bakura stood and went to bed. As he cleaned his teeth, he though he saw his reflection flicker, almost as if he were looking at the Thief-King again, but when he blinked his own face reasserted itself and he blamed it on a trick of the light. He climbed into bed and cradled his injured hand to his chest, shivering slightly. The pain had returned again and now his whole hand was throbbing. He clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the pain. A few seconds later, he whimpered. Suddenly, cool fingers were at his forehead. He opened his eyes and in the darkness made out the Thief-King's face. He jerked backwards.

"What do you want?"

The Thief-King gestured at the Millennium Ring, which lay on Bakura's bedside table, light throbbing over its surface in time to the blood in his hand. "What is it doing?"

"Healing you. Think of it as … my apology. I must go, or I won't have enough energy to heal your hand completely. The pain will dissipate once the muscles are healed. Try to relax. Take some of your pills the healers gave you –"

"The doctors, you mean?"

"Doctors, you call them now? Very well. Take some of the pills they gave you at the hos-pi-tal. They will take the pain away a little. When you wake, your hand will be better," the Thief-King said. The word 'hospital' sounded strange and foreign when he said it, and it was one of the few words that he spoke with a slight accent. Bakura watched as he faded out of his vision, then got out of bed and padded across to get some of the painkillers the doctors had given him.

The throbbing ache had dissipated by the time he got back into bed, and he found he was almost able to ignore it. Five minutes later, he found that he could bear the pain. He was tempted to peel off the bandages to see if the Thief-King was actually healing him, but the doctors had told him firmly he wasn't to remove them in case the wound became infected. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Before he slept, he half-felt ghost fingers in his hair and phantom lips pressing against his cheek. _Sleep well, my brave little host … sleep well._


	2. II

**Waking Dreams**

Bakura sensed that the Thief was going to speak, and yelled, "Shut up!"

A dog started barking outside. Bakura let his head fall into his hands.

_How are your friends?_

Bakura whispered, "Leave me alone … please …"

_I cannot leave my permanent host._

Bakurashuddered and ran his fingers over the palm of his hand where an ugly, circular scar showed white against the pale skin. He closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted more than anything to just be rid of the ring, but whenever he tried to throw it away he felt an aching tug on his heart. He couldn't just let the Spirit go like that.

For one thing he might find someone else to haunt. Bakura didn't wish the Thief-King on anyone …

"You hate me."

Bakura shuddered. The Thief-King had taken on his 'physical' form – transparent and insubstantial as a ghost to all but Bakura, his figurines and his new Duel Monsters deck. Bakura looked up and took a moment to look over the Thief's form. We could be twins, he though, if he didn't look so … different.

"I am not all that different to you."

Bakura growled, "Why must you listen to everything I think?"

The Thief shrugged and came closer, moving to sit beside Bakura. Bakura moved away, sliding along the sofa until he was pressed against the arm rest. The Thief sighed. "You shouldn't fear me. I can't – won't – hurt you."

Bakura snorted and held up his hand to show the scar to the Thief. He winced and grabbed Bakura's hand. Bakura tried to pull away, but found the thief's transparency and apparent lack of muscle to be bad indicators of his strength. The Thief-King pulled his hand close and ran his fingers over the scar tissue. Bakura scowled, but allowed him to continue.

Bakura tried to jerk back when the Thief-King pressed his lips to the scar. However, the spirit's other hand moved like lightning to grab his wrist in a gentle but firm grip, holding him still. Bakura growled, "What are you doing?"

The Thief looked up at him, his eyes dull. "You hate me."

It was a statement rather than a question. Bakura paused a moment and decided not to reply. The Thief released his hand and leant back against the sofa. "It matters little. My hosts have hated me before, but they come to tolerate me eventually. I am used to hate, little one. In Egypt everyone hated me. They didn't know my name, or my face, but they hated me still. They used to whisper about me, fearful of the Tomb-Robber who took the treasures of the Kings. They hated me because I was sacrilegious – disrespectful to the dead, and to the Gods."

"One day you'll regret everything you've done," Bakura hissed, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. The Tomb-Robber's eyes followed his every movement.

"What makes you think I don't already?"

Bakura didn't reply. He pretended he didn't even hear. He simply ignored the Thief for the rest of the day until finally he could stand it no longer. The Spirit had been trailing him from the moment he emerged from the ring. "Have you nothing better to do than follow me around and get in my way?"

The Tomb-Robber frowned. "I have not gotten in your way once. I moved before you turned, I never stood in your path, I let you do what you will –"

"You were watching me!"

"What is wrong with that? You seem to dislike me watching your thoughts, host, so what can I do but watch your actions?"

Bakura ran his thumb over the scar on his palm, then turned on his heel and went to bed. He started to pull the ring over his head, but it's points suddenly pressed into his skin.

_Do not take it off._

Bakura hissed and let the ring fall to his chest. After a moment, the points began to press against his skin again, almost drawing blood. "Please – make it stop!"

_Relax. Don't fight it and it will stop._

Bakura closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt the pressure subside and relaxed. He pulled on his pyjamas and lay back on the bed. "Why do you do this to me?"

_You do it to yourself, my host._

Bakura huffed and rolled to face the wall. The Spirit of the Millennium Ring watched him from the shadows on the other side of the room. Once hw was sure his host was asleep, he padded silently across the room and stroked his pale hair. He remembered that he had once had hair like that, only not half so clean. Bakura was meticulous when he washed, making sure there wasn't a speck of dirt in his snowy hair. The Thief-Skin chuckled. He was a far cry from the Spirit's old self – hair slightly matted; sand everywhere, itching his scalp and rubbing against his skin until it turned red and sore; clothes scruffy and unwashed …

An old King's gold dripping from his fingers.

The Thief-King smiled to himself. He had only been a King of Thieves – a no one, a nothing – but he had owned enough gold to make the Pharaoh's eyes widen. The Spirit closed his eyes and remembered the feel of the gold clinging to his neck, the armbands heavy on his biceps and wrists, the rings on his fingers warm to the touch …

The Spirit lost himself memory, letting himself into a waking dream of rough sand and priceless cloths, glimmering jewels and gold that warmed as it caressed his skin and glowed in the light of a sun dying behind the pyramids.

Ryou Bakura watched, from a shadow of the Thief-King's dream he had yet to notice. The Thief was dirty, his hair matted and frosted with sand and his clothes ragged, but the gold shone against his bronzed skin and he looked at peace. Bakura sighed.

The Thief-King spun around, his suddenly purple eyes wide. Bakura caught a glimpse of the ghost of a scar over his right eyes that vanished as the rest of the Spirit's waking dream melted into a wash of gold and disappeared.

Bakura fell once again into the blackness of restless slumber.


	3. III

**Sleep Well III**

Ryou Bakura often wondered why the Spirit of the Millennium Ring had chosen him as his host. After all, he was weak and pretty – pretty like a _girl_ – and had no attributes the King of Thieves could possibly want or find useful.

_You are wrong._

Bakura screwed his eyes closed and shook his head, making it ache. He hissed, "Not here!"

The Spirit chuckled.

_No one but you can see me, little one. So even if that damn fool healer does come back – _

"She's the school nurse and she's trying to help me!"

_You are still in pain, aren't you? Well, then she is useless._

Bakura sighed deeply. "I'm still in pain because I hit my head on the wall falling the wrong way."

_That boy should not have tackled you._

"It's part of the game! Please go away, she'll hear and think I'm going crazy!"

The Thief-King chuckled again.

_You already are crazy, my little host. You were before I came to you …_

Bakura ignored him. The nurse had told him that the painkillers she had given him would make him drowsy, so he didn't resist sleep when it dragged him into a fitful slumber.

Bakura dreamed of a world washed in gold, where the King of Thieves didn't have to steal. He watched the Tomb-Robber bathe in rivers of cool yet molten gold and laugh as the liquid metal washed the sand out of his hair.

Bakura wondered if this was another of the Spirit's waking dreams, one of his warped memories of Egypt, but then the Tomb-Robber looked right at him and beckoned to him and Bakura knew it was only a dream. He shook his head and closed his eyes, willing this too-bright world away.

Someone was shaking him. He snapped his eyes open and found the school nurse staring down at him. "Mr Bakura, you gave me quite a scare! I thought you had slipped into a coma, because of the bang on your head – your breathing was so deep and your pulse so faint, I –"

"I'm fine. Really. Please, can I go home?"

"Will anyone be there?"

Bakura paused. No one would be there. The only presence would be the one inside his head. But he wanted to go home _so much_.

_Tell her I will look after you_.

Bakura swallowed hard. "My … cousin is visiting. He will be there by the time I get home."

The nurse nodded, although she looked suspicious, but allowed him to leave school with a note. Bakura walked home slowly. Really, he felt fine, his head just hurt a little.

_You are not fine, and you know it._

Bakura growled. "The last thing I need right now is you!"

He could feel the Spirit's annoyance and – hurt? Impossible. The Spirit felt nothing for him – he was simply a parasite … yet he felt that pang of possibly-hurt again as the thought crossed his mind. Bakura soon arrived home and got into bed straight away. He whispered, "I'm sorry."

_You had ever right to snap at me. You were right – you do not need me sticking my nose in when you need rest. So rest. Sleep. I will take care of you._

"What if I get really ill?"

_I will take over your body and call the … hospital._

Bakura smiled, knowing that the Spirit distrusted the doctors at the hospital, and nodded. "All right."

_Do you know why I chose you, host?_

"Because I'm friends with Yugi and the Pharaoh's spirit is in his Puzzle."

The Spirit laughed.

_Yes. And no. You said before you are weak. You are not – you are strong. Strong enough to take back at least a little control from me when I thought you could not – and I could not get that control back without harming you. You also said that you are pretty. That is a far cry from the truth._

Bakura blushed and swallowed hard. He could take physical pain to a certain level, and he could take as much verbal abuse as anyone could throw at him, but to have the Spirit – the one he was told was the other half of his very soul – criticise his looks cut him deep. Once again the Thief-King's deep chuckle reverberated through his mind.

_No, little on. I am not criticizing you. You see, I do not think you are merely pretty – you are beautiful. You don't look like a girl, unless you think that is how I look. I'm certain you don't …_

"No …" Bakura admitted quietly. He felt the Spirit smile.

_Well then. You are beautiful. Not only that, but you have a strength of will that I will never have. That makes you more than useful to me, Ryou Bakura. You say you have no characteristics that I could want. You are wrong. I need your self-consciousness to dampen my boldness. I need your quietness to stifle my noise. I need your strength to hide my own weaknesses – yes, host, I do have weaknesses, although few, I have to say! I need your kindness to balance my cruelty. I need your heart to guide my head._

Bakura smiled. He felt the Spirit's transparent form crouching beside the bed and reached out for him. His fingers brushed the Thief-King's hair and the Thief grabbed his hand. He kissed the palm and whispered, "Go to sleep, my little host. You will need your strength, and so will I …"


	4. IV

_I used a bit of dub!canon here. (So what if I like British!Bakura) Bite me._

**Sleep Well IV**

Ryou Bakura sighed deeply, and wished that the Spirit would leave him be when he was with his friends. It was difficult to concentrate on the conversation when the Thief-King was muttering to him all the things he would love to do to Yugi's Spirit.

_He deserves it, you know. Everything_

Bakura tried to ignore him, tugging his collar up around his neck and concentrating on the harsh wind that was blowing his hair into his face. He pulled his coat closer around him, wishing that he had brought a scarf. He glanced at the clouds.

_It's going to rain. You ought to hurry._

"You shut up!" Bakura hissed, quickening his pace. He liked the rain, sure, and especially loved thunderstorms – he just didn't want to be caught out in one. There was an incredulous silence inside his head.

_You like the rain?_

"I like the rain," Bakura panted in reply, almost running towards his house now. Huge drops of rain had already begun to fall, spattering on the ground around him and dampening his hair. He jumped in surprise as lightning flashed and thunder rolled overhead, but didn't stop running towards his apartment. It was in sight now, only a few more meters …

Bakura slammed into the door, already searching in his pockets for his keys. He found them quickly and shoved them into the lock, turning and letting himself into the apartment block. He slammed the door shut behind him and leant against it, sighing in relief. He caught his breath quickly and walked slowly up the stairs to his apartment.

Once the door was closed behind him, the Spirit spoke up again.

_Why do you like the rain?_

Bakura shrugged, hanging up his coat. "It's calming. It used to rain a lot in England … I suppose it reminds me of home."

_It's cold and wet and depressing._

"It's also essential for life. If we didn't have rain, the plants would die –"

_I am aware of that! I used to live in a desert! I know how important rain is – however, that doesn't mean I have to like it …_

The Thief-King was snappy tonight. Bakura busied himself making hot chocolate. Once it was ready he retreated to the living room and found the Thief-King waiting for him on the sofa. He sat down beside him and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his mug on the top of them. "Why do you hate the rain?"

"I don't like the cold it brings. Or the wet. I am used to earth so dry it cracks open, rocks that become sand due to winds not water …"

"Are you afraid?"

The Tomb-Robber growled low in his throat. "I am afraid of nothing!"

Bakura stayed silent. There was a sudden flash of light outside, followed by an immediate roll of thunder. The Thief didn't make a sound, but Bakura had been watching and he saw him tremble. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Tomb-Robbed suddenly disappeared. For a moment, Bakura saw the Ring glow slightly through his shirt. He touched it through the cloth and whispered, "It's all right …"

_I don't need you to tell me it's all right!_

Bakura sighed and stood, walking to the window to watch the droplet stream down the glass. He murmured, "How can you fear this? It's beautiful …"

Suddenly the lightning flashed and the thunder pealed simultaneously and all the lights in the apartment went out. Bakura gasped in surprise, but stayed calm.

_What is it? Why have the lights gone out?_

"It's all right, the power's out, that's all. They'll fix it soon enough. I have some candles, I'll get them …"

_Does it not bother you? The darkness?_

Bakura laughed as he pulled the candles out of the drawer and fumbled for some matches. "Why should darkness bother me? Half of my soul is consumed by darkness and shadow … your half …"

The Spirit fell silent. Bakura carried the candles into his bedroom and set them around his desk, where he then started his homework by candlelight. The Thief-King came out of the ring again, trying to ignore the steady patter of rain against the windows and the thunder and lightning that came more and more frequently as the night wore on.

When Bakura finished his homework, he started when he saw the Thief-King. "I thought –"

"I told you – I am not afraid. Not of anything. I simply dislike it."

"Why?"

The Thief-King turned to stare at the rivulets of water running down the glass. Finally, he whispered, "That is not your concern."

There was silence between them for a long moment, then the Spirit murmured, "I am sorry. I should not have said that. The rain … it washes away the sins of the world, makes it – as you said – beautiful. But … it cannot purify me. Nothing can."

Bakura walked into the bathroom, frowning. The Spirit sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for him to come back. Bakura returned quickly and sat down beside him. "There has to be something –"

"No."

Bakura stood and gingerly reached out and took the Spirit's arm. He tugged him to his feet and led him to the balcony. When Bakura moved to open the door, the Thief stopped him. "Do not go out there."

Bakura looked up at the Spirit and whispered, "I want you to feel that your sins are gone …"

The Spirit vanished. Bakura sighed and opened the door anyway, stepping outside into the lashing rain.

_I cannot be cleansed, stupid host. Do not freeze trying to rinse the evil from my soul. It is not worth it._

Bakura shivered, but stayed on the balcony, his face tilted up towards the falling water. The Spirit materialised to Bakura's right, but he didn't see him. "Come inside, Ryou …"

"No …" he whispered.

The Spirit cursed in Egyptian and took control of Bakura's body. Bakura felt his consciousness slipping away.

_Sleep, Ryou Bakura … sleep …_

When Bakura woke up, he was lying in his bed, dry and warm. He stared at the ceiling until he knew the Thief-King was listening then whispered, "How long did you stay outside?"

_Long enough._

Bakura smiled and rolled onto his side. "And … do you feel cleansed?"

There was silence. Bakura sighed, and decided that the Spirit wasn't going to reply. He drifted off to sleep, and was therefore unsure whether it was a dream in which the Thief-King whispered to him.

_Yes. I am cleansed because of you …_


End file.
